VaD3r0n!c3

Dropped the bike off for its first service today, and it’ll be 400 beans for them to do things I could do without, I’m sure. Very nice lady at the service counter, though. She somehow managed to appear at the back of the shop before me, even though I’m pretty sure I started heading over there before her. I might be scared of this woman, except for her gorgeous greenbluegray eyes, which draw you in, like free money. In other news, the Heat lost. Dwyane Wade got knocked the fuck out a couple times, but to be honest, he looked like he was hamming it up. I wish PJ Brown was still on the team so I’d know with a certainty that someone from the other team was going to be flipped over. Gotta figure out what to do this weekend if I don’t win the lotto tonight. Speaking of which… (goes off to check tickets)

Looks like I’ll be going to work tomorrow. Same old nothing. But the weekend, perhaps the weekend can be greenbluegray eyes for me versus the vacant dull brown half open orbs that are the work week.

Been riding the past couple weekends. We went to Key Largo last weekend. A ride that should’ve taken us till mid-afternoon round trip, ended with me closing my fence at around 7:30 in the evening. Lou’s bike wouldn’t start once he arrived at the rendezvous, so we jumped the battery, and followed him home to make sure he got there ok. We went to Carraba’s for lunch and jumped on the turnpike for the ride South, where my bike proceeded to stop three times; because I’m unintelligent. Turns out the bike was low on gas and all I had to do was hit the reserve switch. Off we went to refill on gas, and head on down to Largo. Originally we were going to take Card Sound Road and head to Alabama Jack’s, but we already had food in our bellies, so we took the main road, which I can never remember if it’s US-1 or if it has some special beachy name.

By the way, I’m going to say it, I don’t care who’s listening: Ricky, you’re not going in the front anymore. You ride too slow and when you’re in the middle, you leave too much of a gap. You’re going in the back and you’ll catch up when you can.

Back to the ride. (more…)

It’s only great when you’re in my rearview it’s just me and the lines. What’s that mean? Should I just ride alone all the time? One going around that circle twice, through the crossed yellow lines! The other unable to keep a straight line. Come sit next to me. On this bed. Here, take an xbox controller. Oh, these digital lives, they have no meaning. By all means, drop grenades, take a red light, weave in and out of traffic so people don’t really know where you are. Yes, you CAN jump that river in that car. But you gotta get it up to like 150 mph. But y’all gotta stop doing shit that’s gonna get me killed on the road. Ya dumb wankers.

There were good times, though. You guys are great in a straight line. You’re golden for cannon fodder. God forbid I ever need to enter one of those maze gardens with you, though. Nobody’s perfect, though. I’m like 2/5 on getting a gas pump to recognize ANY of my credit cards when I’m on a bike. I’m sure, if you had websites, or a blog, or… paper, and an ability to scribble, you’d write: Deer motorsycle Cuzin, Stop fussin wit da cerdit kard on da gas stashun. We gotta go vrooom vrooooom!

I’m kidding. I love you guys. In my rear view. I’m in front from now on. I got the better exhaust. I ride up on those stupid people who think they’re gonna sneak in front of us. I’ll kick their car. I’m going to put giant robot legs on my motorcycle so it looks like a titanium spider crunching down the road, TaRaNTULA! Clank, Clank, VROOOOM!

Don’t mind me. Nothing to see here. We ain’t rebels. The guy in front just didn’t know where the hell he was going. But the guy in the back, did, yet he was unable to stop himself from going through the wrong lane twice either. So great was the shock of foolishness…

listening to: Robert Plant & Allison Krause- Please Read The Letter

Alex & Chris- I owe ya comics. This week, I promise. I swear on my hatred of bad bike riding. I swear on the TaRanTULA!
And I did not die. But. I saw, ahead of the blowback of South Miami phantom Autumn leaves, through 4 taillights, beyond the curve, past the edge of the Earth, the abyss of dark matter, yawning, flailing, lunging with the groan of end. And I laughed and sang, “Sometimes, they call me the Space Cowboy, sometimes they call me the Gangster of Love, some people call me Maurice, cause I speak of the pompitous of love.” My friend was right, “you ride where you look.”

b4bed